


Dig Two Graves

by EveryDayBella



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bad Guy Character Death, Brock Rumlow is a dick, But whatever, Canon-Typical Violence, Civil War (Marvel), M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Revenge, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sputnik, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve is not a happy camper, and his Bucky, brock rumlow is twisted, crossbones - Freeform, its only mentioned, kinda spoilery?, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:33:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4173051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryDayBella/pseuds/EveryDayBella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve understands getting even, even if he's never strived for it himself. He's always known that revenge is a slippery slope, that digging two graves is a necessity, not a suggestion. </p>
<p>But when it's someone you love who's been hurt, who’s been damaged beyond repair, it makes that idea more appealing. </p>
<p>It makes you want to destroy everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dig Two Graves

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was trying to sort through some things, and it seemed Steve wanted to sort through some things. So we vented and this came about. 
> 
> A quick warning in case you didn't read the tags. There is some mention of rape/sexaul abuse. It is by no means graphic but it its triggering for you please be warned. 
> 
> As always, much love to Angelycdevil and MyHeroin. Love you two!

**Dig Two Graves**

_“He who seeks vengeance must dig two graves: one for his enemy and one for himself.”_

****  
  


It was bad enough what those sick bastards had done to Bucky. Steve had read and reread the file a hundred times and when, as the Avengers were pulling down Hydra bases, they found video of Bucky being strapped to a fucking chair while they electrocuted his fucking brain. Steve had watched and rewatched that, too. He’d sit in front of his screen until he thought he would be sick (and he had been many, many times, not that he told anyone this.)

He thought the pain and anger would ebb after a while. He thought the wound might scab at least, but it didn’t. It festered. It got infected. It wept until he thought he might go mad. The longer it stank, and the longer he went without finding Bucky ( _you were supposed to save him! What the fuck is your problem, Rogers?_ ) the worse and worse it got until Steve was certain that he was indeed going crazy.

He tried throwing himself into his distractions, into the Avengers and trying to save the world because at least he could save something, but none of it worked. It was futile busy work. Weary distractions when the thing he was supposed to be doing was finding Bucky.

 

_You had one job. One job. You couldn’t do one fucking job._

Captain America was a ticking time bomb, ready and waiting to go off.

Maybe that was why Natasha and Sam got him alone to share this bit of news. Maybe he wasn’t as good at pretending to be okay as he thought.

Bucky always told you you were a terrible liar, you asshole.

“We think we know who Crossbones is.” Natasha gives a blank stare, and he fights the urge to fidget under her glare and Sam’s concern. He puts on his best “Captain” face and tries to pretend that once again this isn’t going to wreck his world.

“Who is he?” Steve asks, voice weaker than the order he meant to bark.

Natasha and Sam share a look, and Steve wants to tell them to stop treating him like some porcelain china doll. He’s not that far gone. _Are you sure about that? Bucky always used to call you his doll._

Natasha looks back to him, green eyes hard, but not without a hint of compassion. “Brock Rumlow.”

Brock Rumlow. Brock Rumlow who served directly underneath him for a year. Brock Rumlow who had been Hydra the whole time, and Steve had never known. Brock fucking Rumlow who had been pulled from the wreckage of the triskelion, and then had just disappeared.

Brock Rumlow who had been on some of the tapes. The video of men in white coats who made a habit out of pulling Bucky from his own body, and somehow Brock was always there.

Brock Rumlow who, by all accounts, had somehow known exactly who they had strapped to that fucking chair and had stood by and watched.

Brock fucking Rumlow.

His vision goes red, air comes shallow to his lungs, and his fist clenches so hard that he can feel blunt nails break skin. The pain does nothing but fuel his rage further because Bucky suffered so much more. He’d been turned into nothing but a weapon to be used in someone else’s hands. Not just anyone hands either, Hydra’s hands, Hydra’s fists, Hydra’s weapon to be used and abused as they saw fit and Brock fucking Rumlow had stood by and watched it happen.

He’d just stood by. He’d spent time as the Winter Soldier’s handler, and Steve didn’t know whether to believe some of the rumours they’d heard either. Rumours that said Rumlow had shown too keen an interest in the Asset, private time and treating him like some kind of sick pet.

Brock Rumlow who was rumoured to have been in sexaul conntact with the Winter Soldier.

This one thought, unjustified and unsubstantiated, breaks the thin amount of control that Steve has. He’s so lost in rage that he doesn’t feel himself move, take a step, sink his fist into a moniter and feel glass and LCDs shatter under his knuckles. Doesn’t feel anything but anger boiling in his veins as skin breaks and bright red blood stains the broken shards. Doesn’t hear anything other than a dull ringing in his ears, even though his mouth is open and he’s screaming, howling in rage, despair, and a bone deep sorrow that time hasn’t healed.

Destruction is the only thing he can think of. The only thing that he can feel. The only thing that will bring relief to the pain erupting through him. He’ll tear the world down, piece by piece with his bare hands and make sure that Brock fucking Rumlow pays for even thinking about hurting what belonged to Steve.

He’s so lost to the anger and pain, that he doesn’t feel Sam and Natasha grab either one of his arms, nor does he hear them shouting at him to calm down. He shrugs them off, but they’re persistent and stubborn, so he resorts to shoving. With arms beefed up by a super soldier serum, shoving can be dangerous, especially in the state Steve’s already in.

It’s Natasha who finally breaks through, gets between him and whatever he’s destroying, ( _you don’t even know do you? What’s your fucking problem?_ ) and breaks through the uncontrollable rage. Because there is Natasha’s face, his friend, with blood dripping down from her temple, getting tangled in her long red hair, and painting her pale cheeks.

It’s like ice water in his veins, cooling the fire and letting the pain back to the front. It loosens his lungs and lets him breath, let's oxygen rush to his brain and focus on the things outside of him. He sinks back into Sam’s grasp, letting himself go limp because he trusts Sam and if Sam is holding him back from something, then there’s a damn good reason.

Such a good reason too. He, Sam, and Natasha stand in the eye of the storm. The room is destroyed, tables and chairs overturned, computers broken, glass and sharp pieces of plastic covering every surface. He looks down at his own knuckles to find the wounds already healing, but the evidence of their existence surrounds him in the bits of red that cling to sharp edges. Natasha stands in front of him with a hand on his chest, holding him back or holding him down, he can’t be bothered with which because she’s still bleeding where he’s not.

Oh god, what have I done?

“You back with us?” Natasha asks, voice neutral and composed, even though he recently threw her into what looks like a wall.

He nods, head feeling like it weighs sixty pounds. He watches as she shares another look with Sam over his shoulder that he doesn’t bother trying to read.

“I’m gonna let you go, okay, Steve?” Sam pauses as if waiting for a reply. He’s not going to get one. Steve doesn’t care. He finally hears Sam sigh and feels his hands fall away.

He should be strong and push himself to his feet. He should remember who and what he is and act like it. Be the symbol and everyone else's courage, but he can’t. He sinks down to his knees, bowed by the release of emotions that have exploded like a champagne cork ( _remember that time in France when Bucky stole that bottle of bubbly? You sunk away from the rest of the Commandos, into the woods and toasted Brooklyn. Wasn’t that the last time the two of you ever made love?_ ). He’s left numb in their wake and every beat of his heart spreads new pain through his body.

Pain because of everything his Bucky had gone through, might have gone through. All the torture, the brainwashing, the and suffering. All because Steve hadn’t gone back for him. Because Steve had been frozen in a ton of ice. Now Bucky is alone out there somewhere because Steve had gotten distracted.

Distracted from Bucky, when Bucky used to distract him from everything.

Steve opens his mouth to talk, to apologize, but all that comes out is a strangled sob. He’d be rather be destroying something again. That would be better. It would feel better than this.

Steve has never in his life felt more hopeless than this.

“Steve Rogers look at me.” Natasha’s voice is full of power. An order, not a request, but also gentle as very few ever heard her. Steve looks up through a cloud of tears he can’t seem to stop to find her kneeing in front of him, putting herself back in the line of fire. Sam on his left, his hand on Steve’s shoulder a warm point of contact that spreads calm and reassurance through him. “This is not your fault. Listen to me. This isn’t even that big of news. We knew he was still out there somewhere and it's a very Rumlow move to think he can become some kind of super villain. We’ll take care of him.”

Steve nods because of that he has no doubt. He can already feel the rage coming back, calmer this time, biding its time until he can rip Brock Rumlow into tiny little pieces, until Steve can hear him crying and begging for mercy that Steve will not give him. Of that he has no doubt, but it doesn’t do anything to make him feel any less heartbroken, because Brock Rumlow isn’t the problem.

“This is about Bucky isn’t it?” Steve isn’t surprised that Sam is the one to figure it out. Sam is far too good at reading him.

Steve nods and wilts even farther, half wishing he could disappear into the floor boards. The best that he could deserve, to just disappear. “I said I was gonna find him,” Steve finds his voice, wet and thick. “I love him and I can’t save him.”

The confession isn’t not a new one. Natasha and Sam are probably the only people on the planet who knew how deep Steve and Bucky’s feelings used to run, who know what they used to be to each other. And they know that those feelings never changed for Steve, even after seventy years on ice and a history of being the most deadly assassin known to man, Steve still loved Bucky with every fiber of his being.

And that just made this much worse.

“Steve, he isn’t your fault.” Natasha tries to sooth. “Trust me, he knows how to hide. You’re not going to find him until he’s ready, but that doesn’t mean this mess is your fault.”

“I was supposed to save him.” Steve argues weakly. “I promised him till the end of the line.”

“You still got a lot of line to go, Steve.” Sam assures him and Steve wants to believe him, but Bucky hadn’t even remembered him. “Hydra deserves the blame for this, and we will get get Rumlow. Man has an ego the size of California. He’ll show his face again.”

That brings hope to Steve, even if it burns in the process because it's not a hope for a happy ending and a love returned…

...it’s a hope for revenge.

* * *

There is one thing Steve has never told anyone about Project Insight. One secret he buries deeper than all the others, that even Sam and Natasha don’t know.

Steve is jealous that Nick Fury is the one who got to pump Alexander Pierce full of lead. Steve can’t believe that twenty-four hours before hand, he’d sat in front of Steve and held a conversation like it was fucking nothing that he had his best friend locked up somewhere and brainwashed. Like it meant nothing, when it meant everything.

To Alexander Pierce however that’s exactly what Bucky had meant to him, nothing. Absolutely nothing and that thought festered under Steve’s skin for a long time. Steve wasn’t the kind of person who hated easily, but Peirce was the exception. He’d think of all the ways he would have liked Peirce to suffer. To feel all the things that he’d done to Bucky, to be reduced to a tormented, brainless wreck, to beg for mercy and never ever get. Bleeding out was too good for the man and Steve hated that he had it so easy. It wasn’t fair.

Now, Steve had a target. Someone to focus all that pain and rage on. Someone to push him forward.

Crossbones.

For weeks there had been nothing. Steve struggled to hold it together, especially in front of the team. Nat and Sam were one thing, but Rhody, Wanda, and Vision didn’t need to know how personal he was making this. Natasha tried to talk him down and make him think straight. Sam just tried to make him talk. With no sign anywhere of Bucky, however, Crossbones became his obsession, and he let it devour him.

He’d heard that revenge could eat you alive, but he didn’t truly understand until that point. Until he started spending hours in front of computer screens tracking Rumlow’s known associates, the remnants of Hydra now being lead by a man named Grand Ward, all while fantasizing about all the pain he could inflict before he finally took Brock Rumlow out of the picture. The deeper he went, the more worried he know his friends were, but he didn’t care. He finally had someone he could make pay for all of Bucky’s sins.

Just like Sam had said, he got his chance. The Avengers were in Africa, trying to help after a recent disaster. It had been Steve’s idea. They’re only job couldn’t be taking out the villains. They had social responsibility, too. It was the only thing other than Bucky and Rumlow that Steve had been able to think about.

Steve was willing to call it poetic justice that Crossbones would choose that moment to come back out of hiding. Buildings were exploding and there were people screaming, more destruction, more misery (you really can’t do anything right, can you?) Steve only had one goal—take out Rumlow.

He’s not thinking as he lets his legs carry him down tight alleys and cramped walkways, only thinking about catching up with the vague shadow just in front of him. Nat and Sam are both shouting in his ear, but he’s not listening, not even when Natasha says something about a trap.

They’re in a courtyard, people scrambling away from in fear, when Steve throws himself at the black clad body, knocking them both into burning cobblestone and halting their flight. They spring lightly to their feet, facing off like a bull and his matador. Steve isn’t sure if he’s bull or the matador. The skull mask means that Steve can’t see Rumlow’s face, but he remembers the body language, the cocky way he would shrug his shoulders when he grinned and knew he was about to win. That hasn’t changed, and Steve can still it all in front of him.

“Captain America.” The masks shifts and the voice carries a hiss, but it's still Rumlow. Steve doesn’t bother to hide the sneer that blossoms on his face. “Bet you never thought you’d have to see me again.”

“I don’t care, Rumlow.” He fights to keep his voice even, to not just give into the urge to attack and destroy. It’s a thin thread of control. He’s trying to remember who he is, what uniform he’s wearing, and that he can’t beat a man to a bloody pump. It’s a hard thing to remember. “Surrender now and maybe I won’t punch you for being an arrogant dick.”

There’s a wheezing almost maniacal cough, and Steve thinks its supposed to be a laugh. “That doesn’t sound much like you Captain. What happened to all your grace and mercy? Or did you spend it all on that worthless wreck?”

It doesn’t even take a second to work out who he’s talking about. Rumlow would have known that Steve had gotten his hands on the tapes, that he’d seen what they’d done to Bucky. Steve does realize belatedly that he should have kept his face neutral and not let the rage color his eyes or lips. “Don’t. Talk about him.” Steve growled, ice cold glare focused on the man in front of him. “You don’t have the right.”

“Him? Is that what you think it is?” It’s unnerving not being able to see a face and read all the facial expressions. Is Rumlow gloating or stating a fact? (It’s not a fact! Bucky did save you. He’s still out there somewhere.) “I got news for you Captain, your precious Bucky isn’t there anymore. Hydra took it out a long time ago. It’s nothing but a weapon.”

Steve gives a wordless cry of rage and throws the shield, a sharp, hard edge aimed for Crossbone’s neck. Rumlow jumps easily, sails over the metal, and lands back on his knees in the same spot. The shield clatters into the wall and Steve uses the magnets in his arm to call it back to him.

“Hit a soft spot, did I?” Rumlow crouches, no sign that he’s even phased. “You want to hear more? About what a perfect little Asset it was for us? We didn’t have to do anything but point it in the right direction and it did all the work for us. Never even questioned the killing or what we had to do to it. Took its medcine like a good little pet.”

“Steve, he’s playing with you.” Natasha’s breathless voice fills his ear, trying to talk sense to him. “Just hold it together until we get there. Don’t listen to him.”

It was already too late. Far too late. All it took was calling torture, brainwashing, and possible rape “medicine” for Steve to lose his calm. It didn’t matter anymore that he was supposed to be the calm, steady, thoughtful one. Someone who hurt Bucky was in front of him, bragging about it, and Steve wasn’t going to let that keep happening. No way in hell would Rumlow just be standing there when Steve could make him pay.

Steve rushes forward, throwing all his weight and the shield against Crossbones with a satisfying “smack.” The villain crumples to the ground, but all too quickly he’s back up and turning the tables on Steve. It’s a flurry of fists, jabs, and kicks, most of them he deflects off the shield, but he’s pushed into a corner.

Fury empowers his muscles, rage pushes him forward, determination to not let this one get away keeps him going, and makes him just that last bit stronger to send Crossbones crashing back to the ground. This time, Steve doesn’t hesitate to throw himself on top of him. He uses his weight to pin Rumlow down, and the first time he brings his fist down, it feels so good to let something out that he does it again, and again.

It doesn’t have the effect that he wants. Rumlow isn’t writhing in pain or begging for mercy. That wheezing, huffing sound is back and he’s certain the motherfucker is laughing again. In frustration, Steve digs his fingers underneath the edge of the mask and rips it off.

Rumlow’s face isn’t like he remembers it. It’s a welted, red mess from where he’d been burned while the triskelion feel. Steve might have had some sympathy if Rumlow hadn’t looked up at him with his crazed eyes and feral grin and said, “You should've heard it, Captain. It screamed. Did they get that on the video? They should have because it was music. Long and loud, best damn symphony I’ve ever heard.”

Steve rams his fist back down and the first time he draws blood, startlingly red as it dribbles down from nose, violent in Steve’s rage fueled sight.

Even a broken nose doesn’t stop Rumlow. He just keeps cackling and talking, giving up all the secrets that Steve doesn’t want to know. “Waking it up was always fun. You wanna know why? It’d always be babbling your name. Practically weeping and crying, begging for his precious Stevie.”

“Shut Up!” Steve roars, doesn’t check his strength as he punches again and again. Tries to exorcise the guilt by making the monster underneath him feel pain. It’s too easy to picture a defenceless, traumatized Bucky being dragged out of the cryo chamber, pushed into that table, all while babbling Steve’s name. Bucky always carried too much for Steve. Never thought enough about himself and even in shock, with most of his memories gone, he’d still reverted to that. It broke Steve’s heart and made him push that much harder. “You knew! Fucking knew who he was.”

And Rumlow still won’t stop laughing, and it's infuriating. Steve’s vibrating, shaking so hard he thinks his teeth might be rattling. He’s arm is starting to protest, but it doesn’t stop him from throwing one more punch, inflicting just a little more damage or pain. He’s long since stopped listening to the earpiece, to Natasha, Sam, and even the others trying to talk him down. He can’t stop. He knows he can’t, because if he does it’ll catch up to him. All the pain that makes his heart stutter, his head freeze up and he won’t be able to fight it off. He’ll be lost.

So, he keeps letting the anger hold sway. That’s the safe thing to do.

He pauses for a split second, studies the damage he’s done, the mess of bruises, cuts, split lips, and blood that cover Rumlow’s face and feels proud. That should disgust you. You’re not that person.

Then Rumlow has to start talking again.

“It’s too late, you know that right? We made such a good, little, lap dog. It came running back to us. Was the only thing it knew how to do, but see it failed and it knew what the punishment was for that. I put a bullet in its brain and watched it bleed out at my feet.”

“You’re lying.” Steve feels hollow, drained, wants to argue, but he can’t. He fucking can’t. He hasn’t seen or heard from since the helicarrier hit the Potomac. No rumours. No sightings. Just a fucking ghost story. So he screams. “Tell me you’re lying!”

Rumlow spits up blood and bits of broken teeth. Grins happily like they’re discussing the weather. “Wish I were. It was such a good fuck. But then you knew that didn’t you. You must have been just like me, loved…”

He’s cut off by Steve’s thick hands wrapping around his neck and squeezing. It’s power in his hands, feeling a windpipe crumple close under his hands, watching the first trickle of real fear seep into Rumlow’s eye. Steve can just keep squeezing as long and as hard as he wants to. He doesn’t want to stop. Wants to finally make someone pay for what they did to Bucky.

It fuels him, remembering the horror on Bucky’s face when Steve had gotten through to him. They’d taken something good and destroyed it, wrecked it. Remembering the merciless way Bucky had fought and killed, the unflinching, uncaring stance so far from the boy who had looked after Steve when he couldn’t look after himself. who’s laugh had made their dark days just that little bit brighter. Bucky, who with a smile and well aimed flirt, could make anything worth going through.

It makes Steve squeeze tighter as his own ears start to ring, vision turning red. He’s going to make Rumlow pay. He’s got no one else but himself to blame. Zola’s gone, Karpov was dead long before his greatest weapon ever saw the light of day. With Hydra in shambles Steve, has one last person to blame, someone who might have dealt out the most damage. A sadistic fuck who deserved death, and he’s underneath him already. He might not get to pelt out the pain that he wants to, that Rumlow deserves, but he gets to erase his existence.

Rumlow’s face is starting to turn blue, eyes turning red. It’s working. He just has to keep squeezing.

Just…

Keep…

Squeez…

“Steve.” The voice has Steve sucking in his own breath, air rushing to his demanding lungs.

“Steve, come on. Let him go.”

Steve’s afraid to look away from Rumlow, from his hands still wrapped tight around his neck. He’s afraid that if he looks up, the voice will be gone and he’ll be alone again.

“Steve, it’s me, okay? Just let him go and look at me. Please, Stevie?”

That softly spoken nickname, the one he remembers from years and years ago, from quiet nights spent close together trying to chase away the cold. Whispered endearments in his ear while he fought off a fever. Begging and pleading, “Come on, you can’t leave me now, babydoll.”

Steve never could tell him no.

He turns his head to the left, where he always stood so he was against Steve’s good ear, and there Bucky is. He doesn’t look like Steve remembers him. His hair is still long, but cleaner than it had been, cheeks and chin covered in dark scruff. He’s bigger too and he’s skin is a healthy golden hue. Steve is so relieved. Bucky’s been taking care of himself, and one weight falls from his shoulders.

“There you go.” Bucky softly encourages, grey blue eyes soft and caring. “Hey, its okay. Steve look at me, let him go. You don’t have to do this. Not for me.”

Steve tries to remember how to talk, how to think past the rage. It doesn’t matter that Bucky is still standing in front of him for the first time in years, it doesn’t change the past and Steve is still angry. His heart and soul are still battered and bruised and he wants to make someone pay. He’s tired of being the symbol and letting everything flow over him. He manages to shake his head and redoubles his efforts on the neck under his hands.

“Steve, no.” A strangled sound escapes Bucky’s lips. If Steve didn’t know any better, he would have called it a whimper. Bucky’s eyes are wide and frightened and Steve can’t work out why. He wouldn’t hurt Bucky. Never. Not in a million years and decades in the ice. There was no way. Bucky stretches one hand out, open, an offering, and Steve wants to bad to reach out for it, but he can’t let go of Rumlow. “Steve, this isn’t you, okay? I know you. I remember you and you’re not blood thirsty. You’re the best man I’ve ever known. Always been that way. You’re better than this. He’s not gonna get away. Just let go.”

Steve looks away, down at his hands wrapped tight around skin and bone. Something in Bucky’s voice rings true, but he still can’t let go either. “He hurt you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Bucky voice trembles. “Trust me, no one wants him dead more than I do, but not like this. Not by you. He’s not going to go anywhere. Just come here.”

His fingers loosened enough that blood and air seep back through the Rumlow and the man chokes on it. Steve wants so badly to scramble over to the Bucky, to touch and verify that he’s real and not a hallucination. He lets go of Rumlow’s neck completely and Bucky smiles at him, still holding out a hand, and Steve is just about to bridge the gap when Rumlow starts gasping out words around his coughing.

“Well, isn’t this sweet. Lovers reunited. Happy little love story. Aren’t you just so precious?”

The rages flares back up again and Steve. He turns back to Rumlow and lands another blow against his jaw. Rumlow laughs, wicked and low, like his jaw isn’t cracked, one eye swollen shut, and skin covered in purple bruises and blood. Steve is going to go back for his neck until Bucky distracts him again.

“Steve, no. Don’t worry about him. He’s dick. He’s worthless and he doesn’t mean anything. He’s not worth your time. You’re better than him. So much better and you have to do this for me.”

“Speak for yourself, Asset,” Rumlow says around a mouthful of blood. “What are you anyway, huh? Just a weapon.”

“Shut up!” Steve yells about the same time Bucky’s face falls. He manages to keep from punching him again, but it's a close thing. Breaking his jaw would be so nice, but Bucky doesn’t seem to want him to do that. He turns back to the man still standing a few feet away from him, one hand still held out and it's far too perfect. “Are you real?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry its taken so long.” Bucky’s voice is like heaven in Steve’s ears. Deeper, rougher than Steve remembers it, but still carrying the odd tone and cadences that are all Bucky. “I’ll explain it all, I promise.”

“You better.” Steve manages, feeling calm for the first since he saw Rumlow. There is nothing worth worrying about here. He’s beaten Rumlow, he isn’t going anywhere, and Bucky is in front of him. Why was he wasting time?

He gives Rumlow one last weak shove, just to remind him to stay down. Bucky sighs, relief flooding his face and for one moment he smiles. Steve’s distracted, it’s been so long since he’s seen Bucky smile and it unhinges something inside of him and he breathes easy for the first time since he came out of the ice.

Then Rumlow lays out his parting shot with one word.

“Sputnik.”

Bucky freezes, rigid, stiff, unseeing eyes frozen on a point in front of him. Steve can only watch as Bucky’s eyes roll back in his head and drops like a sack of potatoes, landing on the dirt with a dull thud. One second he’d been standing there, back straight, eyes bright, and strong, and the next he was crumpled like a wad of used paper that had been discarded.

And still. So very still.

“Bucky!” Steve screams, forgetting all about Rumlow as he scrambles to Bucky’s side. He rolls the limp body over to his back and presses his trembling, bloodstained fingers to Bucky’s neck. There’s a moment of panic, pleading, and praying for this not be happening. He just got Bucky back. He can’t go through this again. Not again. Never again.

Steve lets out a sob when he finally feels something strong and steady thump under his fingertips.

Bucky’s alive. Whatever happened he’s alive.

“Bucky, Bucky come on wake up,” Steve pleads, cupping Bucky prickly cheeks in his palm. “Come on baby, wake up for me, please?”

“Oh, trust me. He’ll be out of it for a couple minutes more at least.” Steve looks over his shoulder and finds Rumlow back on his feet, rubbing his jaw and sneering. “If that did it’s job right.”

“What did you do?” Steve demands, turning now to put himself between Bucky and Rumlow.

“The masters implanted a one time shut down code in its programing.” Steve growled, baring his teeth like some kind of wild animal at Rumlow’s casual dehumanization of Bucky. “All it takes is saying a word and it shuts down. Clearly you can see the effects. Our good little machine.”

“He’s not a machine.” Steve snaps, turning his eyes back to Bucky, gingerly patting him down to make sure that nothing had harmed him when he dropped. All the while the anger continues to grow, calmer this time, and more directed, but it's there all same in the metallic tang of adrenaline in his mouth. His fingers carefully brush a tangled knot of hair off Bucky’s sweaty forehead and a little pours out, this time in words. “He’s human. He was a person and you all knew it.”

“It was a weapon, to be pointed and fired.” Rumlow shrugs out of the corner of Steve’s eye, completely dismissive of all the man in front of him was and could have been. Steve gripped Bucky’s shoulder to keep from flying back at the monster. “Though, I do wish we’d known it was so important to you. Thinking of all the fun we could have had. Such a waste.”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” Steve barks an order, wishing it was that easy. Shaking fingers rest easily against Bucky’s skin feeling the warmth, keeping Steve locked there next to him rather than laying a few more on Rumlow. “The Avengers will be here in a minute, and then we’ll see how you like being locked up.”

“Sorry, Cap. I’m gonna have to pass on that date.” Steve only has a second of warning before Rumlow is spreading his hands out at his sides and yelling, “COME AND GET ‘EM BOYS!”

Hydra agents come crawling out of the woodwork, ten or fifteen of them and Steve is defenceless and surrounded. The shield is on the other side of the courtyard, to far away for his arm to magnetize, and he can’t move from this spot. He will not let them have Bucky again. Steve would have to die for that to happen. With guns barrels pointed at them, and Rumlow cackling like the madman he is Steve has only one option.

He throws himself on Bucky’s prone form and turns himself into a shield.

Of all the ways to go out, saving Bucky is the one he thinks that might bring him a little redemption.

The expected gunshots never come though. There’s plenty of sound and the smell of gunpowder, but Rumlow’s cackling is cut off in a howl of rage and the agents are suddenly screaming, too. Steve looks up and can’t help a firm grin of triumph.

He’s team has arrived.

Steve’s watches in awe as Vision knocks Rumlow off his feet with a beam to the back. Rhodey and Sam work on taking out the agents. Wanda has already blinded, and Natasha takes on Rumlow who’s climbed back to his feet.

He hadn’t realized until how fantastic his team is. They’re perfect. Covering each others backs, pulling each other out of fire if they need too, and getting the job done. They don’t even really need him.

“Steve, heads up.” Steve whips around to face Sam and watches as his shield comes back toward him. He raises his arm, relieved when the steady old thing is back on his arm. He spins, mashing the vibranium into a Hydra agents face who had tried to sneak up him. Natasha is keeping Rumlow distracted, but it doesn’t take the agents long to find their target. The try to converge on Steve and the still comatose Bucky, but Wanda, Vision, Sam, and Rhodey form a wall, protecting their weak spot like a good team should. The few that do break through, Steve easily deals with, anger and frustration finding the right outlet.

Protect Bucky. That’s always been what’s he’s wanted to do. Just protect Bucky.

With most of the goons dealt with, the courtyard gets quieter. Natasha almost has Rumlow dealt with, and Steve is just starting to think they might make it out of this unskathed when one, clear shot rings out into the air. Steve rushes, trying to work out which of his team has been hit and how bad, when Natasha and Rumlow’s fight abruptly stops. Crossbones eyes glaze over and he slumps down to his knees, a dark, wet patch starting to blossom on the dark fabric of his uniform.

Steve is dazed for a moment, trying out work out where the shot had come from. Sam and Rhodey are the gun users in their group and they look just as confused as he is. He turns, just to make sure Bucky is still okay, to find his friend leaning over an assault rifle one of the agents dropped. He’s blue grey eyes are cold, zeroed in on the man who had tormented him for years. The last one left standing.

Dark red blood spills from Rumlow’s mouth, his confused gaze on the former Fist of Hydra. “You?”

“Me.” Bucky snears, tosses the rifle away, and climbs to his knees. Steve’s heart stutters for a moment, pride making it impossible to breath. “Hail Hydra.”

For just a moment Steve could swear that Rumlow looks betrayed, crushed that Bucky, his former little pet, is the one to finally do him in. Then he’s falling into the dirt, unresponsive. Good as dust.

For a moment in the stillness and post battle haze, they can only stare and remember how to breath. Then everything rushes into Steve’s mind and in a second and he’s falling to his knees, dropping the shield again, and scrambling to Bucky’s side.

Steve grabs his shoulders, cups his cheek, turns those haunted eyes to focus on him. Sky blue and grey blue met for a moment and Steve chokes on a sob. Bucky is, by some miracle, in front of him, a little shell shocked perhaps and there are sharp edges hidden in his blue depths that will continue to cut and rend, but he’s there. Real and touchable, and he’s not going to disappear.

“Oh god,” he gasps, can’t quite breath again, his lungs are all frozen up, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. The other half of his soul is there. “Bucky? Bucky, are you okay? You dropped and I didn't know what to do and it scared me so much.”

“Me too, pal.” Bucky’s voice is low, gravely, does things to Steve that he doesn’t remember how to deal with. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

Steve chuckles and when it turns into an almost hysterical laugh he struggles to stop. After all the things he’s been through he’s drained, stretched to thin to think straight anymore. “You shouldn’t scare me so much,” Steve tries to joke, but it's comes out to strangled in his haywire emotions to be lighthearted.

“Hey, Steve, it's okay.” Bucky carefully reaches out to move his finger tips through Steve’s course blond hair. The touch is finally enough to loosen the stranglehold Steve’s pulled on his emotions and the first sob breaks free. Bucky then surprises him again, opens his arms and lets Steve fall into them. Bucky’s arms fold him in tight, preventing Steve from rattling apart. He can feel the curve and brush of Bucky’s lips against his ear as he curls around Steve’s bigger frame. There’s a momentary flash of guilt, Steve should be the one holding Bucky as he falls apart , but the damage is already done and he doesn’t have the strength to pull away. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I got ya, Stevie. Nothing is going to happen to us now. I promise. I won’t let anything else happen you.”

Another hysterical laugh. “I should be the one telling you that.”

“You got me there.” Now Bucky’s voice is the one who sounds like he’s having trouble talking. Steve frees his arms, getting them both around Bucky’s waist and holds on as tight as he can to the to leather and kevlar that have been protecting his heart this whole time. Bucky nuzzles his nose into hair, hears ragged breathing in his ear and that just makes him fall apart all the more. “I’m so sorry, Stevie.”

“Not your fault.” The only reply is a wet snort. “If takes me a hundred years for me to convince you of it.”

Bucky still silent before somehow tightening how close he has Steve already. “Please keep that promise?”

“Promise.” He breaths Bucky, fills up his lungs with the very essence of the one he loves and knows he will die before he breaks that promise.

And if they melt into each other in process then so much the better.

****  
  



End file.
